Hugh Lofting
The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle
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Table of contents
PROLOGUE
PART I
THE FIRST CHAPTER THE COBBLER’S SON
THE SECOND CHAPTER I HEAR OF THE GREAT NATURALIST
THE THIRD CHAPTER THE DOCTOR’S HOME
THE FOURTH CHAPTER THE WIFF-WAFF
THE FIFTH CHAPTER POLYNESIA
THE SIXTH CHAPTER THE WOUNDED SQUIRREL
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER SHELLFISH TALK
THE EIGHTH CHAPTER ARE YOU A GOOD NOTICER?
THE NINTH CHAPTER THE GARDEN OF DREAMS
THE TENTH CHAPTER THE PRIVATE ZOO
THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER MY SCHOOLMASTER, POLYNESIA
THE TWELFTH CHAPTER MY GREAT IDEA
THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER A TRAVELER ARRIVES
THE FOURTEENTH CHAPTER CHEE-CHEE’S VOYAGE
THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER I BECOME A DOCTOR’S ASSISTANT
PART TWO
THE FIRST CHAPTER THE CREW OF “THE CURLEW”
THE SECOND CHAPTER LUKE THE HERMIT
THE THIRD CHAPTER JIP AND THE SECRET
THE FOURTH CHAPTER BOB
THE FIFTH CHAPTER MENDOZA
THE SIXTH CHAPTER THE JUDGE’S DOG
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER THE END OF THE MYSTERY
THE EIGHTH CHAPTER THREE CHEERS
THE NINTH CHAPTER THE PURPLE BIRD-OF-PARADISE
THE TENTH CHAPTER LONG ARROW, THE SON OF GOLDEN ARROW
THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER BLIND TRAVEL
THE TWELFTH CHAPTER DESTINY AND DESTINATION
PART THREE
THE FIRST CHAPTER THE THIRD MAN
THE SECOND CHAPTER GOOD-BYE!
THE THIRD CHAPTER OUR TROUBLES BEGIN
THE FOURTH CHAPTER OUR TROUBLES CONTINUE
THE FIFTH CHAPTER POLYNESIA HAS A PLAN
THE SIXTH CHAPTER THE BED-MAKER OF MONTEVERDE
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER THE DOCTOR’S WAGER
THE EIGHTH CHAPTER THE GREAT BULLFIGHT
THE NINTH CHAPTER WE DEPART IN A HURRY
PART FOUR
THE FIRST CHAPTER SHELLFISH LANGUAGES AGAIN
THE SECOND CHAPTER THE FIDGIT’S STORY
THE THIRD CHAPTER BAD WEATHER
THE FOURTH CHAPTER WRECKED!
THE FIFTH CHAPTER LAND!
THE SIXTH CHAPTER THE JABIZRI
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER HAWK’S-HEAD MOUNTAIN
PART FIVE
THE FIRST CHAPTER A GREAT MOMENT
THE SECOND CHAPTER “THE MEN OF THE MOVING LAND”
THE THIRD CHAPTER FIRE
THE FOURTH CHAPTER WHAT MAKES AN ISLAND FLOAT
THE FIFTH CHAPTER WAR!
THE SIXTH CHAPTER GENERAL POLYNESIA
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER THE PEACE OF THE PARROTS
THE EIGHTH CHAPTER THE HANGING STONE
THE NINTH CHAPTER THE ELECTION
THE TENTH CHAPTER THE CORONATION OF KING JONG
PART SIX
THE FIRST CHAPTER NEW POPSIPETEL
THE SECOND CHAPTER THOUGHTS OF HOME
THE THIRD CHAPTER THE RED MAN’S SCIENCE
THE FOURTH CHAPTER THE SEA-SERPENT
THE FIFTH CHAPTER THE SHELLFISH RIDDLE SOLVED AT LAST
THE SIXTH CHAPTER THE LAST CABINET MEETING
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER THE DOCTOR’S DECISION
PROLOGUE
ALL
that I have written so far about Doctor Dolittle I heard long after
it happened from those who had known him—indeed a great deal of it
took place before I was born. But I now come to set down that part
of
the great man’s life which I myself saw and took part in.Many
years ago the Doctor gave me permission to do this. But we were
both
of us so busy then voyaging around the world, having adventures and
filling notebooks full of natural history that I never seemed to
get
time to sit down and write of our doings.Now
of course, when I am quite an old man, my memory isn’t so good any
more. But whenever I am in doubt and have to hesitate and think, I
always ask Polynesia, the parrot.That
wonderful bird (she is now nearly two hundred and fifty years old)
sits on the top of my desk, usually humming sailor songs to
herself,
while I write this book. And, as every one who ever met her knows,
Polynesia’s memory is the most marvelous memory in the world. If
there is any happening I am not quite sure of, she is always able
to
put me right, to tell me exactly how it took place, who was there
and
everything about it. In fact sometimes I almost think I ought to
say
that this book was written by Polynesia instead of me.Very
well then, I will begin. And first of all I must tell you something
about myself and how I came to meet the Doctor.
PART I
THE FIRST CHAPTER THE COBBLER’S SON
MY
name was Tommy Stubbins, son of Jacob Stubbins, the cobbler of
Puddleby-on-the-Marsh; and I was nine and a half years old. At that
time Puddleby was only quite a small town. A river ran through the
middle of it; and over this river there was a very old stone
bridge,
called Kingsbridge, which led you from the market-place on one side
to the churchyard on the other.Sailing-ships
came up this river from the sea and anchored near the bridge. I
used
to go down and watch the sailors unloading the ships upon the
river-wall. The sailors sang strange songs as they pulled upon the
ropes; and I learned these songs by heart. And I would sit on the
river-wall with my feet dangling over the water and sing with the
men, pretending to myself that I too was a sailor.For
I longed always to sail away with those brave ships when they
turned
their backs on Puddleby Church and went creeping down the river
again, across the wide lonely marshes to the sea. I longed to go
with
them out into the world to seek my fortune in foreign lands—Africa,
India, China and Peru! When they got round the bend in the river
and
the water was hidden from view, you could still see their huge
brown
sails towering over the roofs of the town, moving onward
slowly—like
some gentle giants that walked among the houses without noise. What
strange things would they have seen, I wondered, when next they
came
back to anchor at Kingsbridge! And, dreaming of the lands I had
never
seen, I’d sit on there, watching till they were out of
sight.Three
great friends I had in Puddleby in those days. One was Joe, the
mussel-man, who lived in a tiny hut by the edge of the water under
the bridge. This old man was simply marvelous at making things. I
never saw a man so clever with his hands. He used to mend my toy
ships for me which I sailed upon the river; he built windmills out
of
packing-cases and barrel-staves; and he could make the most
wonderful
kites from old umbrellas.Joe
would sometimes take me in his mussel-boat, and when the tide was
running out we would paddle down the river as far as the edge of
the
sea to get mussels and lobsters to sell. And out there on the cold
lonely marshes we would see wild geese flying, and curlews and
redshanks and many other kinds of seabirds that live among the
samfire and the long grass of the great salt fen. And as we crept
up
the river in the evening, when the tide had turned, we would see
the
lights on Kingsbridge twinkle in the dusk, reminding us of tea-time
and warm fires.
“
I
would sit on the river-wall with my feet dangling over the
water”Another
friend I had was Matthew Mugg, the cat’s-meat-man. He was a funny
old person with a bad squint. He looked rather awful but he was
really quite nice to talk to. He knew everybody in Puddleby; and he
knew all the dogs and all the cats. In those times being a
cat’s-meat-man was a regular business. And you could see one nearly
any day going through the streets with a wooden tray full of pieces
of meat stuck on skewers crying, “Meat! M-E-A-T!” People paid him
to give this meat to their cats and dogs instead of feeding them on
dog-biscuits or the scraps from the table.I
enjoyed going round with old Matthew and seeing the cats and dogs
come running to the garden-gates whenever they heard his call.
Sometimes he let me give the meat to the animals myself; and I
thought this was great fun. He knew a lot about dogs and he would
tell me the names of the different kinds as we went through the
town.
He had several dogs of his own; one, a whippet, was a very fast
runner, and Matthew used to win prizes with her at the Saturday
coursing races; another, a terrier, was a fine ratter. The
cat’s-meat-man used to make a business of rat-catching for the
millers and farmers as well as his other trade of selling
cat’s-meat.My
third great friend was Luke the Hermit. But of him I will tell you
more later on.I
did not go to school; because my father was not rich enough to send
me. But I was extremely fond of animals. So I used to spend my time
collecting birds’ eggs and butterflies, fishing in the river,
rambling through the countryside after blackberries and mushrooms
and
helping the mussel-man mend his nets.Yes,
it was a very pleasant life I lived in those days long ago—though
of course I did not think so then. I was nine and a half years old;
and, like all boys, I wanted to grow up—not knowing how well off I
was with no cares and nothing to worry me. Always I longed for the
time when I should be allowed to leave my father’s house, to take
passage in one of those brave ships, to sail down the river through
the misty marshes to the sea—out into the world to seek my
fortune.
THE SECOND CHAPTER I HEAR OF THE GREAT NATURALIST
ONE
early morning in the Springtime, when I was wandering among the
hills
at the back of the town, I happened to come upon a hawk with a
squirrel in its claws. It was standing on a rock and the squirrel
was
fighting very hard for its life. The hawk was so frightened when I
came upon it suddenly like this, that it dropped the poor creature
and flew away. I picked the squirrel up and found that two of its
legs were badly hurt. So I carried it in my arms back to the
town.When
I came to the bridge I went into the mussel-man’s hut and asked him
if he could do anything for it. Joe put on his spectacles and
examined it carefully. Then he shook his head.
“
Yon
crittur’s got a broken leg,” he said—“and another badly cut
an’ all. I can mend you your boats, Tom, but I haven’t the tools
nor the learning to make a broken squirrel seaworthy. This is a job
for a surgeon—and for a right smart one an’ all. There be only
one man I know who could save yon crittur’s life. And that’s John
Dolittle.”
“
Who
is John Dolittle?” I asked. “Is he a vet?”
“
No,”
said the mussel-man. “He’s no vet. Doctor Dolittle is a
nacheralist.”
“
What’s
a nacheralist?”
“
A
nacheralist,” said Joe, putting away his glasses and starting to
fill his pipe, “is a man who knows all about animals and
butterflies and plants and rocks an’ all. John Dolittle is a very
great nacheralist. I’m surprised you never heard of him—and you
daft over animals. He knows a whole lot about shellfish—that I know
from my own knowledge. He’s a quiet man and don’t talk much; but
there’s folks who do say he’s the greatest nacheralist in the
world.”
“
Where
does he live?” I asked.
“
Over
on the Oxenthorpe Road, t’other side the town. Don’t know just
which house it is, but ’most anyone ’cross there could tell you,
I reckon. Go and see him. He’s a great man.”So
I thanked the mussel-man, took up my squirrel again and started off
towards the Oxenthorpe Road.The
first thing I heard as I came into the market-place was some one
calling “Meat! M-E-A-T!”
“
There’s
Matthew Mugg,” I said to myself. “He’ll know where this Doctor
lives. Matthew knows everyone.”So
I hurried across the market-place and caught him up.
“
Matthew,”
I said, “do you know Doctor Dolittle?”
“
Do
I know John Dolittle!” said he. “Well, I should think I do! I
know him as well as I know my own wife—better, I sometimes think.
He’s a great man—a very great man.”
“
Can
you show me where he lives?” I asked. “I want to take this
squirrel to him. It has a broken leg.”
“
Certainly,”
said the cat’s-meat-man. “I’ll be going right by his house
directly. Come along and I’ll show you.”So
off we went together.
“
Oh,
I’ve known John Dolittle for years and years,” said Matthew as we
made our way out of the market-place. “But I’m pretty sure he
ain’t home just now. He’s away on a voyage. But he’s liable to
be back any day. I’ll show you his house and then you’ll know
where to find him.”All
the way down the Oxenthorpe Road Matthew hardly stopped talking
about
his great friend, Doctor John Dolittle—“M. D.” He talked so
much that he forgot all about calling out “Meat!” until we both
suddenly noticed that we had a whole procession of dogs following
us
patiently.
“
Where
did the Doctor go to on this voyage?” I asked as Matthew handed
round the meat to them.
“
I
couldn’t tell you,” he answered. “Nobody never knows where he
goes, nor when he’s going, nor when he’s coming back. He lives
all alone except for his pets. He’s made some great voyages and
some wonderful discoveries. Last time he came back he told me he’d
found a tribe of Red Indians in the Pacific Ocean—lived on two
islands, they did. The husbands lived on one island and the wives
lived on the other. Sensible people, some of them savages. They
only
met once a year, when the husbands came over to visit the wives for
a
great feast—Christmas-time, most likely. Yes, he’s a wonderful
man is the Doctor. And as for animals, well, there ain’t no one
knows as much about ’em as what he does.”
“
How
did he get to know so much about animals?” I asked.The
cat’s-meat-man stopped and leant down to whisper in my ear.
“
He
talks their language,”
he said in a hoarse, mysterious voice.
“
The
animals’ language?” I cried.
“
Why
certainly,” said Matthew. “All animals have some kind of a
language. Some sorts talk more than others; some only speak in
sign-language, like deaf-and-dumb. But the Doctor, he understands
them all—birds as well as animals. We keep it a secret though, him
and me, because folks only laugh at you when you speak of it. Why,
he
can even write animal-language. He reads aloud to his pets. He’s
wrote history-books in monkey-talk, poetry in canary language and
comic songs for magpies to sing. It’s a fact. He’s now busy
learning the language of the shellfish. But he says it’s hard
work—and he has caught some terrible colds, holding his head under
water so much. He’s a great man.”
“
He
certainly must be,” I said. “I do wish he were home so I could
meet him.”
“
Well,
there’s his house, look,” said the cat’s-meat-man—“that
little one at the bend in the road there—the one high up—like it
was sitting on the wall above the street.”We
were now come beyond the edge of the town. And the house that
Matthew
pointed out was quite a small one standing by itself. There seemed
to
be a big garden around it; and this garden was much higher than the
road, so you had to go up a flight of steps in the wall before you
reached the front gate at the top. I could see that there were many
fine fruit trees in the garden, for their branches hung down over
the
wall in places. But the wall was so high I could not see anything
else.When
we reached the house Matthew went up the steps to the front gate
and
I followed him. I thought he was going to go into the garden; but
the
gate was locked. A dog came running down from the house; and he
took
several pieces of meat which the cat’s-meat-man pushed through the
bars of the gate, and some paper bags full of corn and bran. I
noticed that this dog did not stop to eat the meat, as any ordinary
dog would have done, but he took all the things back to the house
and
disappeared. He had a curious wide collar round his neck which
looked
as though it were made of brass or something. Then we came
away.
“
The
Doctor isn’t back yet,” said Matthew, “or the gate wouldn’t
be locked.”
“
What
were all those things in paper-bags you gave the dog?” I
asked.
“
Oh,
those were provisions,” said Matthew—“things for the animals to
eat. The Doctor’s house is simply full of pets. I give the things
to the dog, while the Doctor’s away, and the dog gives them to the
other animals.”
“
And
what was that curious collar he was wearing round his
neck?”
“
That’s
a solid gold dog-collar,” said Matthew. “It was given to him when
he was with the Doctor on one of his voyages long ago. He saved a
man’s life.”
“
How
long has the Doctor had him?” I asked.
“
Oh,
a long time. Jip’s getting pretty old now. That’s why the Doctor
doesn’t take him on his voyages any more. He leaves him behind to
take care of the house. Every Monday and Thursday I bring the food
to
the gate here and give it him through the bars. He never lets any
one
come inside the garden while the Doctor’s away—not even me,
though he knows me well. But you’ll always be able to tell if the
Doctor’s back or not—because if he is, the gate will surely be
open.”So
I went off home to my father’s house and put my squirrel to bed in
an old wooden box full of straw. And there I nursed him myself and
took care of him as best I could till the time should come when the
Doctor would return. And every day I went to the little house with
the big garden on the edge of the town and tried the gate to see if
it were locked. Sometimes the dog, Jip, would come down to the gate
to meet me. But though he always wagged his tail and seemed glad to
see me, he never let me come inside the garden.
THE THIRD CHAPTER THE DOCTOR’S HOME
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
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Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
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Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!